


better man

by dollseyes



Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 09:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23209477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollseyes/pseuds/dollseyes
Summary: Wadsworth has always been, and will always be, the better agent.
Relationships: Owen Thompson | Agent Green & Ellie Wadsworth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	better man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhatsATerrarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/gifts).



Annabelle opens her eyes to the immaculate white ceiling tiles of the AM. The light above her flickers and she hears someone shout “she’s awake” over the buzzing in her ears. Defibrillators pass over her line of sight and disappear. Someone is  _ touching _ her. A hand on her shoulder as she rights herself, sitting up to see a figure kneeling in front of her. It’s a paramedic, one of the ones employed by the AM to handle emergencies.

What was the emergency?

Oh, right.

_ She had died. _

She swatted the hand away.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

“Sorry.”

She looked over and saw Agent Green sitting there, more ruffled than he had any right to be. He was not the one who had just  _ died. _

Ellie stood, brushed her slacks off and straightened her jacket. Green follows her lead.

He follows her into the elevator as well, and to her dismay, attempts to start a conversation.

“How do you feel?”

“Just peachy,” she says, staring at her reflection in the elevator doors. Owen shifts back and forth on his feet beside her.

“That’s good. I know...I know we’ve not spoken that much since training but if you want to talk about it-”

“I don’t.”

She pulls her lipstick from her pocket and makes a point of reapplying it.

“I know it can be difficult but I understand-”

She turns on him.

“What could you possibly understand, Green? Do you know what it feels like to lose all control of your own body? To have an asset you’ve been working with for months turn on you, use your body against you? To have your agency stripped from you and feel your life slipping away and being completely unable to do a single thing about it? No, I don’t think you do understand.”

The elevator door opens and Wadsworth doesn’t give him time to answer before turning back around and marching out.

She doesn’t need anyone to tell her that Rostova wants to see her in his office, but three people go out of their way to let her know.

Her business face is back on by the time she strides through the doorway and desposits herself on the seat across from her boss. Her eyes glance over the sparse desk and the even sparser walls, dancing down the clean lines of the window and across the tops of the filing cabinets that line the back wall.

“You always walk in here like you’re thinking about how you’ll decorate when you become Director.”

She smirks at him.

“At least you recognize that it is a  _ when _ not an if.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“If that’s what you want dear, you shouldn’t be trying so hard to get yourself killed.”

“And who would you replace me with? Green?”

Rostova shakes his head.

“No. Today Green proved to me that he didn’t really want the position.”

Wadsworth purses her lips to keep them from forming a smile.

“And how did he accomplish that?”

Rostova’s grin was that of a Cheshire cat, wide and full of sharp teeth.

“Why don’t we watch the film then, shall we?”

He flips one of his monitors around so that she can see the screen and pulls up security footage. The screen is split into four. The top left is blank. The top right is an empty elevator. The bottom left shows the hallway of Tier 5. She can see Green chatting animatedly with the guard. Figures, he was always trying to ingratiate himself with someone. Never the right people though, Green was never good at corporate politics.

The right screen makes Wadsworth go stiff.

It’s Helen’s cell, and Wadsworth is sitting across from her, hands moving as she speaks.

There’s no sound to the video, but Annabelle doesn’t need it. She remembers the conversation. It only happened less than an hour ago. Wadsworth is telling her the request didn’t go through. It had been denied. That she had tried everything in her power and that she was sorry.

It’s a strange thing, watching yourself die. It’s not really an experience that Ellie wants to have, so she turns her head to the other screen. Green is running down the hallway, the guard in tow and he fumbles for a moment with the door. He swings it open and sees what’s happening and steps between Helen and Annabelle.

Useless really. At this point, Annabelle was already dead. It did no good for him to…

Oh…

The guard takes the distraction to pull Ellie’s limp body from the room, let’s the door swing shut on Owen, alone with Ellie’s client. Ellie’s murderer.

Owen is saying something, moving his hands in nonthreatening curves, palms open, all his de-escalation training on full display. Helen is laughing, her head thrown back and then she stands, focusing her attention on Green. Green places a hand to his own throat. 

By this point, Ellie knows the drill.

First Helen takes away his voice.

Then his ability to move.

Then his ability to think or feel anything besides mind-numbing pain.

It doesn’t matter that the sound doesn’t work. Ellie can feel his screams in her bones like her own. Each time his body arches as a new wave hits him.

And Helen is  _ enjoying it. _

Actually enjoying the way that Owen writhes in pain, clutches blindly at his head, trying to cover his ears, his eyes, anything to stop the pain. But it doesn’t work. Because of course it doesn’t.

Helen is powerful.

Wadsworth knew that the first incident was accidental, had focused on that fact when doing her interviews with Helen. She was willing to assume that she hadn’t meant any spite with the subsequent ‘accidents’. But watching Helen watch Green, a man she had never met before, writhe in pain, brought a certain clarity to Annabelle’s mind. The first one might have been an accident, but the rest certainly were not. Helen liked to cause pain. She didn’t particularly care who she hurt. Everyone was guilty in her eyes.

Eventually, the guard reopens the door and before Helen has a chance to react, a tranquilizer dart sticks out from the thin material of her hospital gown, right in the center of her chest. Outside, the paramedics are pumping Annabelle full of electricity. She has a moment when she entertains the notion that it’s a little ironic, that the electric frequencies that killed her also brought her back, but she ignores it in favor of watching Owen.

The guard helps him sit up, checks him over, supports him as he stands and walks him out of the room. He begins to lead him down the hallway towards the elevator, but Owen stops, waves him off. The guard’s posture asks “Are you sure?” better than even words could and Owen nods, gesturing for him to go.

Owen sinks down next to Annabelle, across from the paramedic, picks up her hand and holds it in his. His head is bent so that Annabelle can’t see his face on the screen, but she imagines that he talks to her, repeats her name over and over.

Rostova pauses the video.

“He could have let you die in there. I would have retired on the spot, written up the forms for his promotion without a moment’s hesitation. But he didn’t. Instead he saved you. Sacrificed himself in the process. There was nothing that guaranteed that what happened to you wouldn’t happen to him too. Now I hope you’re ready for my favorite part.”

He hits play and Wadsworth watches as her body convulses and she comes back to life. The first thing she does is push him away, forcibly, slap his hand away from her. His back hits the wall and he just stays there, watching. She stands and walks away and he follows after her.

She watches him try and ask after her, offer support. She watches herself rebuff him. Pointedly ignore him and then turn on him and chew him out.

_ What could you possibly understand? _

Her own words echo in her ears as Rostova turns the screen back around.

“Well, that’s it then. Movie time is done. Next time, make certain you bring the popcorn.”

Wadsworth recognizes the dismissal and sees herself out. She walks to Green’s office, which is empty. So she goes to Bright’s. There’s Joan, talking passionately about some new theory for one of her clients, her gestures large and animated.

Joan is idealistic, just like Owen.

Perhaps that’s why he sits in the chair across from her, soaking up her every word like a man dying of thirst.

“Owen,” Wadsworth says, before she can stop herself.

His face closes off the smallest bit when he hears her voice and doesn’t that just  _ hurt _ .

“Can I talk to you for a moment? In private?”

He nods and follows her into his office, which is closer than hers and watches her close the door behind them.

“What did you want to talk abo--oof”

Annabelle can count on one finger how many times she has hugged Owen Thompson. And she intends to never repeat it. But this feels necessary.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s a little bit directed into his sweater because he is a tall man, but he seems to take it well enough.

“It’s alright,” he says, finally returning the hug, hesitantly at first and then fully, squeezing her tight against his bony frame.

When she finally pulls away, he shrugs.

“You had a long day.”

It’s an out for her, a way to excuse her coarse behaviour towards him without really owning up to it. If she was a better person, she wouldn’t take it. She would expand on her apology, double down on the sentiment.

She is not a better person.

Instead she is the person that Rostova will choose to become Director after his retirement. She will fight tooth and nail to keep that position as well. She is not Owen who puts the needs of others before his own, willingly and without question.

Wadsworth is without a doubt the better agent.

But Green is the better man.


End file.
